[open mingle: the sunlight at midnight gala]

[badfeyth]

WHO: Anyone attending the Sunlight at Midnight gala!
WHAT: KISS PEOPLE AND DANCE IDK
WHERE: The freshly-renovated Planetarium in District 4!
WHEN: Saturday, December 2
WARNINGS: None for the log itself; please warn responsibly in individual top-levels!

THE VENUE

Upon entry to the newly-renovated venue space that was once a planetarium, guests will quickly notice that the space has been transformed into a three-layered affair, ranging from the very well-lit upper level down to the more romantic ambiance of the dance floor and performance space, with a comfortable tier of seating and standing tables in the middle.


Not intended by Ghost (badfeyth) and Kaveh (fussiest), yet still mysteriously appearing at random places throughout the venue, are sprigs of magical kissing mistletoe!

The mistletoe will cause characters to at least pause underneath it, and will give them a mild compulsion to kiss whoever they're with, but the compulsion will not be unavoidable and characters can easily break free of the "hold" the mistletoe has on them. Even so, partygoers will quickly learn to be mindful of what's overhead — or not!

UPPER TIER

On the well-lit upper tier, guests will find plenty of generalized mingle room, including two patios with casual seating on either side of the space. Throughout the center are a variety of stations and attractions, as well as some helpful resources for the discerning partygoer.

For the fashionably un-forward, you may wish to visit (or find yourselves forcibly dragged into) Lestat's on-site fashion consulting lair, which boasts a small and curtained-off space where partygoers in need can receive last-minute fashion advice, do wardrobe finishing touches, and address any other aesthetic concerns under the discerning eye of LESTAT DE LIONCOURT (perfectdevil). This is also where a selection of basic cosmetics and beauty supplies can be found, in case of a need for an emergency touch-up, safety pin, or spot removal!

Continuing onward, guests will find four individual food stations, each with their own set of color-coded disposable dishware! Perhaps they'd like to take a sampling of:

• STATION #1 — TSURUNO (fanstheflames): Fried rice in the shape of Christmas trees, dumplings with carrot reindeer antlers and red pepper noses, and fortune cookies that tell you to go dance with somebody already!
• STATION #2 — ROLAND (gradenine): Hotpot with mild and spicy soup bases plus a variety of vegetables and meats, and KBBQ with chicken, pork, and beef cuts, plus sides!
• STATION #3 — RENO (astraphilia): Whipped goat cheese figs, brie and prosciutto stuffed dates, and sprouting cauliflower with brown butter and lemon — paired with a couple of simple cocktails (a negroni and a Bombay mule)!
• STATION #4 — WANDERER (featheradrift): Samosas, panipuri, Japanese-style sandwiches, and a lot of sweets and desserts like chocolate truffles, pâte de fruit, candied nuts, madeleines, and custards!

Champagne (alcoholic and non-alcoholic) is also circulating around the venue under the watchful eye of KANEKI (anthropophagite), and a small selection of coffee is available at a nearby station as well!

Finally, at the far end of the upper concourse, one can find a partitioned-off space for photo opportunities featuring a black-and-gold backdrop, an arch aglow with fairy lights, and a few idle props like chairs and small movable tables that partygoers can use to coordinate their souvenir photos. PROMPTO (burstmodes) will be around to do formal event photography, but there'll also be a Polaroid available so that people can take their own photos and develop them instantly!

VISUALS: AESTHETICS & ETC.

         

MIDDLE TIER

On the mid-tier halfway down the stairs that flank the venue on either side, partygoers will find a landing with an assortment of standing tables covered in black tablecloths and tied with gold bows, where guests can enjoy their refreshments, engage in conversation, and people-watch the goings-on taking place below them on the dance floor! To prevent any mischief or accidental spilling of food onto hapless dancers below, each landing is lined with a courtesy railing, and immediately below the railing is an arrangement of tasteful decor.

Between the two landings, guests can find the remnants of the planetarium seating — fold-down auditorium chairs with comfortable cushions arranged in gently circular rows, giving the people relaxing there a perfect view of the dance floor and the spectacle of lights taking place below it.

VISUALS: AESTHETICS & ETC.

    

LOWER TIER

The lowest level of the venue, at the very bottom of the stairs, is the most dimly-lit of the three levels and is mostly comprised of the dance floor. Along the back wall and parts of the sides runs a slightly-raised platform stage upon which are arranged a piano, an electric guitar, a stereo system, and a few microphones for the convenience of any vocalists in the house. The stage is wide enough for one or two people to walk around comfortably, but generally is fairly modest to leave the majority of the room for the dance floor.

It's on the dance floor that the real "sunlight at midnight" theme takes its shape, as this is where the bulk of Kaveh's artificial lighting technology has been put into play. Along with standard party enhancements like a few spotlights and an overhead disco ball, the perimeter is also dotted with round arrays of stained glass with light fixtures behind them, causing panels of colored light to cast onto the hardwood of the dance floor. These arrays can also be rotated like kaleidoscopes, allowing for the patterns of light to change throughout the course of the evening — adding an element of renewable interest in the continuing aesthetic.

VISUALS: AESTHETICS & ETC.

    

ENTERTAINMENT

Throughout the course of the evening, music will be provided by a rotating set list of performers, interspersed with prearranged playlists courtesy of the new media store. Entertainers will be informed of their set lengths, obligations, and timeslots well in advance of the venue by Ghost, and any necessary instruments or microphone hookups will be ready and available at the time of the performance.

Performers on deck include:

• HYTHLODAEUS (nomoresharks) and EMET-SELCH (recreator): Jazz piano bops along with some ragtime arrangements.
• EDDIE (thefreak): A mix of slow rock ballads and hard rock dance numbers, on electric guitar!

In addition to the live performances, the venue will also be treated to some traditional mid-2000s party favorites such as:

• BLORBOLICIOUS, by Gurgi (feat. Bill.i.was)
• HIPS SOMETIMES LIE, by The Kira
• SANDSQUALL, by DaNice
• MAYBE GONNA GIVE YOU UP, by Rickard Dastley
• MAMBO NO. 4 AND A HALF, by Stu Vega
• THE CHA-CHA HUSTLE, by DJ FriendlyGhost
• VIRUS, by Boo Boo Dolls

VISUALS: AESTHETICS & ETC.

    

LIVEBLOG

Looking to add some network spam to your gala experience? Check out our dedicated IC NETWORK POST!

credit.

Comments

[perfectdevil]

[ As the ribbon slides from his hair, Lestat feels almost as if with the movement Louis is removing the persona of the handsome and glittering man who flourishes under the attention of any and all eyes that turn toward him at the Gala, and revealing instead the tenderhearted man who lies beneath, who is always a certain few words away from weeping, who would sooner let the place burn down than let Louis think for even a moment that his position at Lestat’s side is not enough.

He can’t look at Louis from this proximity, but he can feel the smile pressed against his mouth and he can feel the soft exhalation of his laugh. He can feel that this doesn’t weigh Louis down, that it isn’t a highlight of his shortcomings or his failure to make Louis happy… it’s simply the way Louis feels, and the way he probably always will feel. Lestat’s hands hold Louis’ waist a little tighter, curious fingers pressing intently against the well made seams of his waistcoat as if they’d like nothing more than to slit the seams and dive inside. ]

You say such things as if you don’t already make me happy.

[ He kisses him then, and it's a far cry from the soft touches they’ve shared so far. Instead, it’s hard and insistent, as though his whispers of reunion from earlier have grown into a tumult of desperate relief at having the one he loves close again, describing aptly without words exactly how he might crumble were Louis to ever not be within arms reach again. ]

I chose you, didn’t I? [ He asks, once he’s taken his fill of kissing Louis deep enough to steal the air from his lungs. ] I picked you from a crowd of mortals, I made you mine. I told you, all those years ago, that I could have picked anyone, but I picked you.

[ Back then it had been a cruel thing he’d flung at Louis, the truth but without the context that spoke of his soft heart, spat with enough acid to sound like a threat. Lestat’s hands move to the front of Louis’ torso, fingers sliding under the fabric of his clothes, between the layers to lay a palm against his stomach. His touch is intent, caressing, constant. ]

You know how I am when I want something, don’t you? I am relentless, I am unstoppable. I wanted you, Louis, and now I have you, but I have never wanted anything the way I want you. No-one makes me as foolish as you do. No-one makes me feel the way you do. I feel helpless around you. The idea of you being anywhere other than at my side terrifies me.

[ His mouth falls, to kiss his throat again, so that when his words come they’re pressed against the sensitive skin there. ]

When you returned to me, when you fell into my arms the way I’d always wanted you to… I’d never felt happiness like it.

You are more than I deserve, but I’m much too selfish to let you go.

[deathoftheauthor]

( Louis exhales in a rush, and a soft groan of surprise escapes him as the familiar cool touch of Lestat's fingers meets the sensitive skin of his stomach. It's powerfully erotic, and he feels a stir of hunger for more than just blood beginning in his core. Oh, he shouldn't get caught up in this, shouldn't want to escape his responsibilities to let Lestat have the whole of him in their bed, and show Lestat just how much he needs him in return.

But he can't help the wanting, not when the memory of those early years feels so close and the veil of time so gossamer-thin that he can almost hear the sound of carriage wheels on cobblestone. It aches — sweetly, but an ache nevertheless — to think of those long decades together but so seldom close enough to touch, and Lestat wanting him, longing for him, the entire time. What if Louis had fallen into his arms then? )

Oh, your words are poetry...

( Louis swallows, his throat moving beneath Lestat's lips. Fingers tighten in his hair, encouraging, and Louis' chin tips downward to kiss the crown of Lestat's head, murmuring against him. )

And I can hardly find the breath to speak when you touch me like this. You know I feel the same way, don't you? I was alone for all those years by choice. Even at my most bitter and resentful, you were the only one I dreamed of. You were the one whose voice I longed to hear. A memory of the sun amidst a world of darkness and candlelight.

( He sighs softly. )

Only I've never missed the sun the way that I missed you.

[perfectdevil]

[ Lestat hadn't meant for it to be quite so sensual, this trading of truths and sweet nothings between them both, but only as he feels his lover's hands tighten in his hair to urge on his progress does he realise how close to sin they are.

Holding Louis like this, hands against his skin like he'd longed for but never could have had when they were together in New Orleans -- pushing him up in some secluded corner enshrouded by darkness, Louis' hands pushing at his shoulders to no avail until eventually he started to cling, desperate for Lestat not to stop once he's started, now that there's no going back, years of longing spilling out, like hot blood down the sides of a crystal glass, from a wound that still hasn't healed, still pouring with nowhere to go, no outlet, no end -- is unmistakeably venereous. Even the sweetness of their words, the loving poetry they make together, seems only to fuel how sinful it feels to have his hands on Louis' body like this, to be treasuring him so sweetly while his body hungers for him. ]

Who speaks poetry now?

[ Lestat murmurs against his throat, his tongue finding the elegant concave of flesh where his windpipe curves inwards, bracketed by his jugular, and pressing up against his pulse. Lestat can taste cologne on his skin, and the scent of sweat that can't be Louis' own. It makes his heart-rate pick up excitedly, claws scratching ever so slightly against Louis' stomach. ]

You can't breathe to speak and yet you do, for me. You spent all that time alone, just thinking of me. Oh, Louis, you've been mine this whole time, haven't you? Find breath enough to tell me it's true, my heart, don't lose your words now...

[ In other words, keep talking. ]

[deathoftheauthor]

( A soft sound and a shiver escape him, his stomach twitching beneath Lestat's nails. He feels Lestat's quickening pulse with a sense deeper than mere hearing, as if some ancient machinery deep inside of him is forever attuned to that sound. He wonders what inspired that quickening — if it's merely an effect of Lestat's cool tongue dragging against his throat and making Louis' own pulse hasten too, or if he's thinking of something more. )

Yes, yours, always yours, eternally. I've been yours since you made me. I fought it, I tried to resist, and it only made me more miserable.

( It might sound accusatory if his voice weren't softened by sighs, speaking of his need as if it were something as inevitable as the rising of the sun and just as fatally beautiful. His nails rake Lestat's scalp lightly, teasingly, a promise for later and encouragement for now. He swallows, another breath shivering out of him beneath Lestat's lips. His head is swimming pleasantly, but he reaches for something remembered and grasps it, his voice sweet and light. )

Did you ever read Plato? He wrote that each of us is a matching half of a being that was split in two, forever seeking his missing piece. That's what love is: the desire to be complete. 

[perfectdevil]

[ The trembling flesh beneath his hands and the kneading fingers in his hair are all he needs to force him onwards, to continue the path of opened mouthed kisses against Louis’ sensitive throat, to chase every particle of unfamiliar scent from him and drink it down like he would the blood. The idea of Louis in another’s arms yet still thinking of him, still craving his fangs and his touch, is maddeningly enticing and almost proves too good to resist as Lestat lets his fangs scrape ever so slightly across Louis’ windpipe…

The sweet, romantic words bring him back to his senses enough to not act so quickly, to settle for merely letting his wrists test the resistance of Louis’ clothes against him as he tries to slide his hands up further, fingers and palms desperate to map out his chest as if he hasn’t touched him for weeks rather than hours. ]

Mm, I remember thinking it fascinating; the idea that no matter what kind of man I turned out to be, that there would be someone out there to fit against me perfectly.

[ His words tumble across Louis’ flesh like curls of smoke, breath stronger than the evening wind about them. Louis’ hair tickles his face, but he doesn’t move it aside, instead burying his nose in it as his mouth presses against the taut tendons in his neck where he willingly tips his head to give Lestat more room. ]

To make up for what I lack, to teach me, to change me. [ He shifts and kisses the soft skin beneath Louis’ Adam’s apple, cursing the smartness of his dress and the well-fitted button at his collar that denies him entry. ] To make me feel whole.

I wanted to believe it, but it felt like wishful thinking. It’s only now I see the possibility in it. I was so captivated by you, despite having never spoken a word to you. I wanted you in a way I’ve never wanted anyone. I still do.

[deathoftheauthor]

Lestat...

( Louis lets out a breath shaped by a smile, the crown of his head tipped back against the wall. His back arches, his chest pushing eagerly toward Lestat's touch. His heart pounds at the thought that someone might stumble by at any moment and see them like this — catch them in the act, as they say. But there's a buzzing under his skin that's more from excitement than fear.

Would it be so bad to be spotted? To have someone (or everyone) know that Lestat wants him badly enough to steal him away from the gala for this? He would be flustered beyond reason if anyone were to actually call him on it. But in the moment, with Lestat's cool hands roaming his skin, it doesn't seem such a terrible consequence.

Louis presses his thumb to the spot where Lestat's neck meets the base of his skull, holding him there against his neck even as he tries to chide him: )

You're going to send me back to work in wrinkled clothes if you keep at this, is that what you want? ( He lets out a huff. ) It probably is. 

[perfectdevil]

[ Lestat can’t repress the laugh he lets out against Louis skin, and rather than the peal of church bells it’s instead something smooth and satisfied; Louis has fallen into his trap and, satisfied, Lestat flicks his tongue out against his windpipe to taste the powerful scent of another man and the distinct taste of smoke from his skin.

He felt that quickening pulse, the thrill of excitement through Louis as Lestat’s wandering hands sought to make their quick tryst something that couldn’t be so easily explained away, and he wonders what is going through Louis’ mind as he fantasises about having to return in such a state – what people might think, what they might assume. Is it Lestat’s possessive passion, or the idea of getting caught, that’s more exciting to him? ]

I could send you back with more than that, if you’d like; enough that should anyone else come close enough to kiss you, they might think twice.

[ He doesn’t sound dangerous, nor particularly annoyed, and that’s because he isn’t. His tone is as playful as he feels, fingers kneading into Louis’ flesh like a pleased cat as his mouth scatters idle kisses across his throat, wondering if Louis will flush so dark Lestat will feel the burn of blood under the skin there. ]

1/2

[deathoftheauthor]

( Thud goes Louis' heart in his chest. Lestat's playful tone and the knowing subtext in it sends a faint, humming blush straight to Louis' cheeks, and he squirms like his spine is trying to contort itself into a pretzel. )

2/2

[deathoftheauthor]

You— That was the mistletoe! 

( Louis gives Lestat's hair a tug, and kicks petulantly at his foot with a fine, pointed boot. He hadn't hated kissing Reno; it was pleasant enough in a purely physical sense. The man clearly knows what he's doing when it comes to seduction, and yet he's too earnest for Louis to really resent, no matter how they came to know each other. But to Louis, having someone else's hands and attention on him felt wrong in a way that he doesn't know how to explain to Lestat.

On one hand, he's relieved that Lestat isn't jealous. On the other hand, he had felt an undeniable pang of discontent at how naturally and effortlessly Lestat could sweep someone else into his arms. Louis can tell he's even fed himself a bit. So he sounds entirely flustered and defensive when he replies: ) 

I was in need of a diversion, and he asked me to dance. It would have been impolite to refuse, no matter how terrible the music might have been. 

[perfectdevil]

[ He honestly isn’t expecting the rough treatment, so he retracts somewhat from where he’d been kissing and pawing at Louis, to instead lean his hand on the wall and loom over him to study his face. Distracted by the silhouette of a poet that Louis casts, Lestat quite often forgets how physical and brutish he can be given enough reason - aspects of his lingering human nature, perhaps. However, it is still, like most things about Louis, entirely addictive to Lestat regardless of how it had shocked him. ]

A diversion? Oh, Louis, and here I was thinking you quite enjoyed your little clipboard job.

[ Lestat has a feeling the responsibility wasn’t the only thing Louis was looking for a respite from, considering just before he’d spotted the two of them together he’d been needling at Fearne and her handsome date in that secluded little alcove… ]

But I wasn’t asking for an explanation, you know. Mistletoe or not, it was quite the sight to behold. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.

[ Not jealous, yes, and certainly not blind to the clear attraction between the two, either. Lestat can’t deny how fascinating it is to see Louis react to those advances from someone who isn’t him. ]

[deathoftheauthor]

( In spite of his annoyance, Louis is disappointed to lose Lestat's hands on him, and his face falls a little when Lestat leans against the wall instead. He recovers quickly, though, and takes a firm but gentle hold of Lestat's lapels, keeping him close even as his lips resume their flustered frown. Louis doesn't know what to make of Lestat's reaction, or why he should seem so pleased with himself; he's probably thinking of the little scheme he'd envisioned for the three of them, Louis thinks, but there's no one Louis can blame for it but himself.

Huff. )

I assumed your eyes were preoccupied.

( It feels unfair, somehow, that Lestat should get the upper hand in this again. Unfair, too, that Louis is still wildly attracted to him and his knowing grin. But Louis doesn't especially want to argue, particularly when he has a feeling that the problem really lies with him. His glower softens slightly, and some of his desperate confusion slips through. )

... I don't understand.

( His voice is soft and genuine, and almost confessional, as if he's admitting something he's vaguely ashamed of. Lestat's mind is so different from his own. )

I used to tie myself into knots thinking of what you might get up to with the mortals you charmed. The only thing more agonizing was when you did it somewhere you knew I would see.

[perfectdevil]

[ Lestat carefully watches the way Louis’ expression twists as he hangs onto his lapels as though he’s trying to keep him here, when really it’s baffling to imagine any situation where he might want to leave. Even that pinch of his eyebrows and the tell-tale sign of a glare starting to form don’t make him want to run, although he does lose a little of the laughter in his expression as he realises that he’s the only one enjoying this teasing.

He lifts his hand to gently hold one of Louis’ wrists, fingers over his pulse and his thumb running softly back and forth across his skin. Soothing, or perhaps coaxing. It’s rare, after all, to have Louis so honest with his own emotions without being prompted or tricked into confession. Again, Lestat feels like he’s coaxing an unwilling creature into what’s best for it. ]

What are you telling me, Louis?

[ He’d said used to - does that mean he no longer ties himself in knots over his worries? The way he looks is evidence to the contrary. And what is it that he doesn’t understand, exactly? ]

I know how it felt, I would do it on purpose to get under your skin, after all… but not one aspect of this is the same as it was back then. You know that, don’t you?

[deathoftheauthor]

I know. I know, everything is different now, which must mean that I'm the one that hasn't really changed.

( Which is both dramatic and untrue, but he wants to blame someone for how he feels, and he's the only person here besides Lestat. With a little sigh through his nose, Louis lets Lestat soothe him, trying to relax as the gentle, steady back-and-forth sweep of Lestat's thumb quiets him the same way the sound of his heartbeat does. If he hadn't changed, he wouldn't be here, trusting Lestat with his feelings, baring his most delicate sensitivities willingly without any fear that Lestat might go in for the kill.

He pulls his gaze back to Lestat's eyes from where he'd been staring, unfocused, at the embroidery of the waistcoat against his chest. )

You and I have different appetites. That's simply a fact. I suppose...

( He takes a breath, head tipped curiously to one side, studying Lestat as if he might read his thoughts through his eyes alone. )

I suppose I'm asking you what it is that you found so appealing about watching me. Perhaps I might come to see it as you do, rather than being the way I am.

[perfectdevil]

[ Different appetites, he’d said. Lestat knows it’s true, has always known that the way Louis feels is different to the way he feels, and that no amount of convincing arguments nor sulking about it could ever get him to change his point of view… but somehow, Lestat still feels that strange pang of loneliness to hear it put so plainly. He’d tried so hard to make Louis like himself, and in the end it only pushed Louis away; now, he almost enjoys their differences, watching the way Louis processes information, the manner he speaks and the measured approach he takes… but when it comes to the blood, to the hunt, to feeding… Lestat will always make him unhappy with the way he commands himself.

He remembers the words he’d said during his first few months here, when he’d told Louis he’d drink from the bottles if that’s what he wanted even though it would make him miserable. It would, and he knows damn well that even if he made such a promise there’s no chance in Hell it would last. Is he doomed to make Louis miserable forever, all by the fault of his own selfish needs?

And then Louis tilts his head, and on his face there is no trace of twisted sadness, but instead a kind of demure curiosity. Lestat is surprised into a totally blank expression and a few minutes of silence before he bodily shakes the reverie loose to reply. ]

I liked to watch someone else find you attractive and put their hands on you, knowing all the while you’ll be in my arms as the sun rises. It’s…

[ Lestat doesn’t know how to explain the feeling with any words that might make sense to the modern man, but luckily for him Louis is just as inexperienced with this kind of thing as he is, so he describes it in terms familiar to him. ]

I feel possessive over you; I like to know you are mine. I like to know that you react to my touch, that I know where to touch you to please you, that I can please you. I like to know that I will always be the face you look for first in a crowd, that you could lie in my arms till we turn to dust, just the same as I could with you. It doesn’t make sense, I know, but after spending so many years terrified that you’d leave me… it’s thrilling to see another be so close to you and still be sure that you won’t.

[ His expression has turned a little more emploring, his eyebrows pulled together in mild frustration as he tries to map out these strange feelings in a way that’s at least possible to navigate if not easy to understand. ]

[deathoftheauthor]

( It doesn't make sense, Lestat tells him, but the way he maps it out, Louis can follow the logic of it perfectly. Not that these things follow any kind of logic — it would be so much simpler if they did — but for perhaps the first time in his life, Louis can comprehend the appeal, instead of feeling vaguely disconcerted by the premise. His ears feel warm, and the pulse in his wrists make the cuffs of his shirt feel too tight.

But Lestat's last words surprise him, and he's startled by the sudden spike of tenderness he feels amidst his own uncertainty. To hear Lestat admit that he was ever terrified, ever at Louis' mercy in that way... of course Louis knows it now, but hearing it aloud is so different. It makes Louis want to be gentle with him, to protect that vulnerability however he can so he never wounds him again.

Louis leans in to kiss him, hands firm against his chest, searching for the steady beat of his heart. It starts off slow and sweet and chaste, a kiss to thank Lestat for his honesty, but he lingers there, and parts his lips to coax Lestat's tongue into his mouth. His arms have come around Lestat's shoulders again by the time they part, and he doesn't want to pull away; he lingers there, his forehead against Lestat's here in the quiet, private dark. )

And to know I was thinking of you even then?

[perfectdevil]

[ The kiss is hardly surprising given the nature of their conversation – Lestat has often found in his most romantic moods that a kiss says a great deal of things better than any words ever could, and has often utilised such a tactic when his overwhelming feelings become a little too much to parse in Louis’ company - but what is surprising is the mounting intensity of it. It feels as if Louis is blossoming beneath his touch, grasping his meaning with both hands and latching on for all he’s worth, willingly allowing himself to be completely carried away by Lestat’s honesty…

And then their mouths part. Lestat’s mouth is left hanging open, his tongue lolling like a dog, not quite ready for the intensity to be over so soon. He’s also not ready for Louis to murmur something like that against his lips, so earnest but somehow sultry at the same time. Lestat groans like Louis said something particularly filthy, hands falling away from his wrists to paw at his chest again, pressing in like he might push through fabric and flesh and into Louis’ skin like he were an overripe fruit. ]

God, I know you were thinking of me, of course I know you were, but to hear you say it…

[ Lestat bullies him into another kiss, though it’s a weak effort since Louis responds to him so readily, opens up to him so easily. Lestat is sure he could wrestle him out of his clothes if he wanted, and even finds his fingertips budging almost impatiently at the shining metal buttons of his waistcoat as he prises his mouth open again and resumes their kiss where he left off. He only pauses when his fangs start to feel sharp, when the friction of their tongues starts to light a fire in him he knows will soon burn out of control, and forces himself to pull back and return them to the pose of two lovers huddled into a corner, foreheads pressed together just as firmly as the line of their bodies. ]

Who is the better kisser, then?

[ He’s teasing, quite obviously, but he’s breathless with desire or adoration or both, and it therefore comes out a little weaker than it usually might. ]

[deathoftheauthor]

( Louis exhales, a shaky rush of breath that manages to sound both exasperated and wildly aroused. )

Do you want me to stomp on your nice shoes again?

( But something in the eager, sweet tone of Lestat's voice stops Louis from feeling off-balance again. There's that heady sense of having Lestat at his mercy, at least as much as Louis is at his. He bumps the toe of his shoe against Lestat's, but gently, teasingly, almost apologetic for his unbecoming outburst. He runs his fingers through Lestat's hair, curling in a light grip at the back of his neck, a gesture that is both possessive and seeking something steady and certain to hold onto. )

What would you do if I told you it was him? If I said that I think you need practice?

( Louis' breath trembles, like the idea is so ridiculous that he can't stop himself from laughing. He wants to give just as good as he gets, but oh, it's difficult. If Lestat were an imperfect kisser, well, how could he know? That imperfection, then, would be the only thing Louis could ever want. )

[perfectdevil]

[ Lestat reacts like Louis' touch has electricity coursing through it; his spine arches into the curl of fingers at the nape of his neck, his mouth falling open in a soundless gasp of excitement as the memory of Louis' instinctive lashing out returns to him.

It had felt good to have him tug on his hair like that, but it feels even better now that Louis is measuring his strength, testing resistance in both of them and testing Lestat's possessive nature at the same time.

Lestat is comfortable with Louis, yes, but there's still some small part of him that feels the burn of green envy twist when Louis suggests that Reno might be a better kisser than him. He knows it's meant to tease, that he and Louis kiss so perfectly that no one else could compare... and yet.

The hands on Louis' chest shift, one pressing over his heart to feel his pulse, the other taking Louis by the chin so it's easier for Lestat to keep him still while he kisses him, hard. He can feel Louis' head softly bump against the wall behind them and still he pushes, with his tongue and his teeth and his lips, devouring his lover, inhaling him in, fingers pressing insistently, his breath warmed through.

When they part, Lestat lasciviously licks the taste of Louis from his lips, maintaining strong and confident eye contact. ]

If you told me that, I'd do anything to prove you wrong.

[deathoftheauthor]

( The kiss does its job, and by the time Lestat pulls back, Louis has nearly forgotten what it was they were kissing so passionately about. He blinks his eyes open slowly, looking at Lestat through his eyelashes, pupils wide and dark from arousal and thirst and reflecting Lestat's gaze like twin mirrors. His tongue, too, sweeps across his lips to catch the taste of Lestat still lingering there, an unconscious imitation of Lestat; finally he presses the point of his fang into the swell of the lower, almost smiling. )

Anything...?

( It's undeniably suggestive, and Louis' heart speeds up beneath Lestat's hand, a physical reaction to desire as keen as any mortal's body could produce. He does burst into a smile, then, no more able to hide his amusement than his hunger for Lestat. )

You're making it very tempting to lie, if that's to be my reward for teasing you. ( He tugs playfully at a lock of Lestat's hair wound around his fingers. ) Is that why you're like this?

[perfectdevil]

[ Lestat is pinned in place by that dark gaze, his eyes glittering with what’s unspoken between them, ready to react given nothing more than a word… It’s practically instinct by this point to reply to Louis’ question with his typical romantic response, and it’s almost entirely formed on his tongue when he feels Louis tug at his hair, and a helpless smile warms on his face, spreading like sunlight through leaves. ]

Hmm, figured it out, have you? [ He murmurs, his expression turning pleased as a cat with a mouse’s tail pinned under it’s paw. ] I have never enjoyed lying to you, Louis, but I can hardly resist toying with you sometimes, especially when I can almost predict to the letter how you’ll react.

[ The hand over his heart stays firm, fingers against each slow beat of his heart, feeling the blood beneath the layers of clothes and skin, reluctant to draw away - but his other hand… well, his other hand starts to shift down from Louis’ chin, to his collar, and suddenly the pesky button there keeping Louis looking proper is unfastened, his tie loosened. Beneath, where Louis’ skin is pale and sensitive and chilled by the night air, Lestat slides his fingers in to brush over the swell of the artery running down his throat. ]

I know just where to put my hands on you, what to say, how to lower my voice so that your thoughts will linger on my every word for nights after I’ve spoken them; and in return, the sounds you give me and the look in your eyes… Oh Louis, you drive me mad.

[ His fingers press in, ever so slightly, his eyes watching the point of Louis’ fang and wishing it was his own. ]

I don’t have any room for true jealousy in my heart that’s already suffocated by devotion to you.

[deathoftheauthor]

( The smile on Lestat's face is so warm and affectionate that Louis almost can't remember what it used to look like curled into a mocking grin. And how many times in those miserable years had he mistaken such warmth for malice and shunned it before it could grow into more? I have never enjoyed lying to you, Louis, Lestat tells him, and Louis does believe him, mad as it would have sounded to him once.

Louis shivers deeply at the touch of fingers to that most sensitive of spots, the artery in his throat pulsing delicately beneath cool fingertips that still seem warmer than the night air around them. It's barely the ghost of a bite, not even the slightest drag of nails to indicate where fangs might pierce his flesh... but Louis feels his pulse rise to it all the same, commanded by the masterful work of Lestat's fingers. Lestat is right, of course, that he knows how to do all of those things. Louis doesn't like the thought that he might be predictable, but at the same time, there's a comfort in being known so well by the only person whose opinion of him truly matters. )

Suffocated by devotion...

( With a sigh, Louis shuts his eyes and for a moment simply lets himself succumb to pure sensation. He strokes the back of Lestat's neck, weighing his own desire, his own resistance, thinking of tipping back his chin and letting Lestat take his from that vein beneath his fingers so that some part of him — not just the ring — is with Lestat tonight, no matter where he goes or what he does. Louis inside of him, in his veins, in his heart...

Softly: )

You must know what I'm thinking now, then, what thoughts you're putting in my head when you touch me like that...

[perfectdevil]

[ Lestat can feel the hum of Louis’ blood under his touch, responsive and quick even to a touch so light. Intention burns through both of them, and Lestat’s eyes turn from Louis’ lower lip to the line of blue beneath pallid flesh, following it down to where his fingers make the skin dip in, where the vein bulges against him, where Louis’ pulse is as visible and as tempting as a siren song… He’s mesmerised by the visible beat of his heart for a few moments, captivated by the strength of it and the way Louis’ body seems to pull him into a vaccum where there isn’t and cant be anything else but the two of them, linked by scarlet threads until the end of time… ]

Mm, yes, I know. I’m having quite the effect on you, aren’t I? Another few decades of this and why, I’ll have ruined your good manners completely; tempted you entirely. You might even be interested in joining Midnight’s proposed business venture as one of his entertainers for hire.

[ His voice started off as a purr, but soon enough is dispersed with enough laughter that his manner becomes a little less seductive and a little more teasing. To make up for it, he dips his head forward, to press an open mouthed kiss to Louis’ jaw, to quell any petulant remark of protest that might be forming on his lover’s lips. Against his skin he murmurs: ]

I’m teasing. Even I don’t think I could stand to see you on display like that for long. A few temptations here and there is exciting, but that… Mm, I’d be much too tempted to remind people of my claim on you.

[deathoftheauthor]

( Just as Lestat probably hoped, Louis' face scrunches into a perfectly cranky frown at the teasing. But Lestat's kiss to his jaw is perfectly timed, and instead of a grumble, an open-mouthed gasp leaves his throat, a soft exhale of pleasure that seems impossibly loud here in the quiet shadows of the building, sending a thrill through him at the danger of being found out. He tips his head back in offering, hand curling at the back of Lestat's hair and holding him there.

A rush of an exhale. )

Who else would be mad enough to want my company like that?

( Besides Armand, perhaps. Louis' ankle hooks around Lestat's, urging him closer, wanting more, quick and clandestine though it might be. He shouldn't encourage Lestat's fantasies, probably, but the purr of his voice is so tempting, and the thought of Lestat's possessiveness and the blood pounding hot in his throat mingle into a silent chorus: drink me, have me, make me yours... )

How would you do that? Lay your claim on me?

[perfectdevil]

[ The fingers pressing into Louis’ pulse feel the tick of his heart pick up in speed at the same time that Lestat’s preternatural hearing – always tuned to the exact frequency of Louis’ heart, it seems – does. He smirks, opening his mouth to ghost a breath over the place he’d kissed before moving down, thrilled at the sensation of Louis’ voice vibrating against his lips as he speaks. ]

Oh, Louis. Don’t act innocent now. You and I both know how, don’t we?

[ This throat, so pale and so easily given up for him with nothing more than a press of intention and some sweet words. ]

You’re much more attractive than you realise. You had a man dazzled in your arms tonight and you still don’t believe it? Or, hm, let me guess… [ His kiss lingers as though in thought, and then he flicks his tongue across cool skin in a movement so fast like the strike of lightning. ] You’d prefer to chalk it up to the mistletoe and nothing more, hm?

[ A little laugh, and Lestat’s weight becomes a little heavier as he leans in, sealing his body against Louis’ to pin him between his form and the wall. He can hear the desperate chant in Louis’ urgency to pull him closer, but he isn’t quite done teasing just yet. ]

You could read the dictionary and be perfectly enticing with that alone. You have a perfectly frustrating manner when you debate philosophy that ought to have any sensible human frothing at the mouth. And that’s without a single comment for how beautiful you are, and how there is so much of you worthy of worship; your eyes, the purse of your mouth, your even shoulders, your narrow hips, your long legs— ah, your hands… Most of all, your hands.

[ Lestat presses his nose into the flesh where his throat meets his shoulder, inhaling the cigarette smoke clinging to his collar, inhaling the faint scent of the world trying to give Louis’ skin a smell where there is none. He flicks out his tongue again, tastes nothing but the night air and the faint tang of Louis’ sweat. He exhales a breath that’s surprisingly shaky. ]

We heal slower here, as we’ve found. Wounds don’t disappear as fast. [ … ] Do you remember what I said about love bites on our first night here? That I thought it wouldn’t be possible to leave such a mark?

[deathoftheauthor]

( Lestat is right: Louis would prefer to chalk it up to mistletoe. He knows he's attractive, but he doesn't have any pride in it; if anything, it's a source of discomfort to think that his preternatural beauty might lure people in against his will. If only he were ugly, he could be as sullen and argumentative as he pleased, and no one would commit atrocities for the sake of being near him. He's still glad to know that Lestat finds him pleasant to look upon, though, even if his other sweet words mean far more. He hopes that Lestat never stops treasuring the small things he finds dull about himself.

With a little groan, he lets Lestat's weight press him into the wall, tilting his chin willingly, his body tensing in anticipation of the bite. He loves it when Lestat gets this way, breathes him in as if he might satisfy the thirst raging in his veins through sense alone — or perhaps, as Louis sometimes does, hoping against hope to discern some faint scent that belongs purely to him, something he might carry with him on his clothes and hair even after they part.

Then Lestat asks him that, and his brows come together in a wondering frown. )

... Of course I remember. I think about it all too frequently.

( He sounds frustrated about it even now. )